


How To Cheat A Hangman

by Aylwyyn228



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Found Family, Gang shenanigans, Gen, Mild Peril, Protective Arthur Morgan, Scams and Heists and Bad Ideas, Sean MacGuire has Bad Plans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:07:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23803591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aylwyyn228/pseuds/Aylwyyn228
Summary: Dutch was on the warpath, and all Arthur really wanted to do was get out of his way. But he should have known never to trust a plan thought up by Sean goddamn MacGuire.Particularly not when that plan involved scamming the law itself.Arthur really doesn't want to hang for this, but more than that he really, really doesn't want Sean to hang for it.Hosea would never let him hear the end of it...
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Van der Linde Gang
Comments: 15
Kudos: 88





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, folks, once again I am not working, and I am writing stories about cowboys!
> 
> This is finished, and I'll post every couple of days or so.
> 
> Enjoy!

"Arthur!"

Arthur sighed, his hand on his new mare’s bridle and his foot in the stirrup. He’d been so close, so close to making a surreptitious exit from camp. Dutch was lookin’ for him, again, and Arthur didn’t have the energy for another one of his schemes right now. 

He’d planned on a couple of nights away, hunting. 

Goddamn Sean was gonna get him caught. 

He patted the mare’s neck, angling himself so that between the horse and the saplings around them, he couldn’t be seen from the river path Dutch had disappeared down, seconds before Arthur had made a break from behind the girl’s tent. 

He kinda felt like a kid again, with Tilly and Mary Beth laughing into their hands as he gave Dutch the run around. ‘Cept back in those days it was Hosea he was hiding from, and he was sneakin’ back into camp too damn early in the morning, and with a pocket that was considerably lighter than it had been the night before. 

It had been a long time since he’d had chance for frivolities that didn’t involved comin’ back bloody. 

Sean had caught him up, grinning, like the goddamn idiot he was. 

Arthur stepped a little to the side, so he see the path Dutch was likely to return on over Sean’s shoulder. "What is it you want?

Sean joined him in pattin’ at the horse. "I got an idea for a score, but it might be stupid so I thought I'd come to a man of intelligence and wisdom…" 

"Get on with it." 

"... but I couldn't find Hosea so I thought I'd give you a shot."

"There it is.” Arthur shook his head. “You got somethin to say, or you just like wastin’ my time?"

Sean raised his hands. "No, I got somethin'. I got somethin'. You see, you know after Blackwater the price on my head went up, so?"

"Yeah, price went up on all of us." 

"But did you further know, that after you sprung me, my price went up again? To _five_ _hundred_ dollars?"

Arthur laughed. "Five hundred dollars? For you? I’d turn you in for ten.” 

Sean grinned and patted his shoulder. “Well, that is good news, boyo!” 

“I’m not gonna like this, am I?” 

“Here’s the plan, big fella.  _ You _ take me in!” 

Sean spread his arms wide, like that was the greatest plan in the world. 

Arthur just looked at him. “I’m missin’ the punchline here.” 

Sean just grinned wider. “You take me in, claim your money, Javier busts me out, and we split a monkey between us!”

“A monkey? The hell you talkin’ about?” 

“Five  _ hundred _ dollars!”

Arthur opened his mouth to answer, but he was distracted by the mare, nosing at his coat pocket, and nearly shoving him over, looking for sugar cubes. 

She was too new. Unnamed as yet. A replacement for Titan, who’d been shot out from under him by an O’Driscoll ambush. 

The loss was still raw. Arthur had loved that horse, though he’d had him barely three years altogether. By all accounts he didn’t rate stallions for temperament, but Titan was placid as they came, and fearless... probably because the big dumb thing didn’t care about anything but where the next meal was coming from. 

Arthur didn’t know whether it was lingering resentment, but he couldn’t seem to take to the mare. Maybe the feeling was mutual, or maybe she could sense his lack of trust through his body, but she’d already thrown him twice, when a rattlesnake, or a coyote or some damn thing had spooked her. 

He’d have to make more of an effort with her, but he couldn’t seem to find it in him for the moment. 

He tugged the packet out, and let her take a cube off his hand. 

Sean was patting at her nose too, whispering lilting melodies under his breath, but he was watching Arthur. Waiting for his assessment. 

Arthur sighed, shoved the sugar cubes back in his pocket, and pulled out a cigarette instead. “Well, you were right, Sean, it is stupid. I… why wouldn’t I just take a bounty from the sheriff, and keep the whole lot, steada cuttin’ you in?” 

Sean cocked his head. “You see a lot of five hundred dollar bounties around this shanty arse town? Besides, I wouldn’t be fightin’ back, which I gather is a hazard for men in your line of business.” 

Arthur shook his head. “No, you’d be swingin’, which is another hazard I’d prefer to avoid.” 

“It won’t come to that because Javier’ll be there to spring me, just as soon as you’ve got your pretty English arse outta there.” 

“And Javier agreed to this?” 

“Boyo agreed quicker than you! I mean, where’s the downside?” 

Arthur shrugged. “Well, you got me there.” 

Sean patted at his shoulder again. “Now, you’re gettin’ it! And I haven’t even got to the real kicker yet!” 

“There’s more?” 

Sean grinned and leaned in conspiratorially. “You, me and Javier? We move quick enough, then the law won’t know what’s hit ‘em. I reckon, we could hit three, maybe four ‘fore they got word out that the same charmin’ Irishman was trussed up and paid for all on the same day.” 

Arthur couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sorry, your response to ‘that’s too dangerous’, is to want to do it twice more, on the same day?” 

“They’d never see it comin’! Can’t think why no one’s tried it before!” 

“Oh, really? I can’t  _ imagine _ .” Arthur rubbed his hands over his face. “You… you set on this?” 

“It’d be one hell of a payday, and I’m takin’ all of the risk!” 

“Be a risk on all of us if Hosea gets wind of it,” Arthur said, under his breath to the horse. 

“What was that?” 

“Well…” Arthur was tryin’ really hard to think of reasons not to do it, because really, when Sean MacGuire started makin’ sense, you knew it was all over. “I got five thousand on me, why wouldn’t you turn  _ me _ over?” 

Sean whistled. “Five  _ thousand _ ? Well, you have been busy while I was away.” He shook his head. “But no, I don’t reckon anyone’d buy me as the fella that took down the great Arthur Morgan and I doubt I could even lift ya offa my horse! Five thousand is too big, anyway.” He waved his hand like that was a given, like five hundred wasn’t a hell of a bounty. “That’s armed escorts, and state penitentiaries. Things get complicated with a price that big.” 

“Ain’t  _ that _ the truth.” 

“But for me? That’s a local job. You get your pay offa the deputy, and I kick my heels in the jailhouse til Javier comes callin’.” 

“I don’t like this…”

“Ah, but will ya do it?” 

Arthur just looked at him. 

Kid was gonna get himself killed, as reckless as he was, but try as he might, Arthur couldn’t see this was any more stupid than riling up Pinkertons and O’Driscolls and robbing Leviticus fucking Cornwall’s goddamn train. 

Hell, maybe he was just as foolhardy as Dutch seemed to be these days. 

He shrugged, and flicked the butt of his cigarette away. “Fine. You wanna hang for five hundred dollars, then be my guest.” 

Sean grinned and clapped him on the back. “A gentleman and a scholar, sir! Lemme get Javier!” 

“Yeah, sure.” Arthur spotted Dutch over Sean’s shoulder, striding like a man possessed over to where Pearson was slavin’ over his pot. “Imma wait for you by the road, kid. And you didn’t see me, alright?”

Sean glanced over his shoulder at Dutch, who was now berating Pearson with his hands on his hips. Sean turned back and winked. “Don’t worry, I won’t rat you out to the boss man, big fella. Go get on your horse, and dream about what you’re gonna do with all that money!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short first chapter, it was the nicest place to break.
> 
> Hope you liked it! 
> 
> Comments and kudos give me the social interaction I'm currently missing!


	2. Chapter 2

“Do ya think you coulda tied me a bit tighter there, Arthur? I think I still got a bit of feelin’ in my little finger.” 

“Quit complainin’. Had to look real, didn’t it?” 

Sean had been bellyaching ever since they’d left Javier, like this whole damn thing hadn’t been his idea anyway. 

Arthur didn’t try very hard to keep the smile off his face as he leaned back to cuff Sean lightly on the back of the head. “Now pipe down, we’re gettin’ close to town.” 

He felt Sean shuffle a little behind him, and almost told him to watch he didn’t shuffle his way right off the mare’s back. He didn’t particularly want to explain to Dutch and Hosea that instead of a payday, they’d just managed to break Sean’s neck.

“Well, I wouldn’t know, would I? All I can see is the arse end of your filly. I mean, it’s not a particularly dignified way to mark my return to the gang, is it? Staring up your horse’s arse?” 

Arthur laughed. “You want me to drag you instead? Could mix it up a bit for the next one.”

“That how you usually bring your marks in?” 

Arthur tightened his grip on the reins as the mare started tossing her head, irritated by the double burden. He pulled her up as he reached a crossroads, trying to remember which route was quickest. 

“Arthur?” Sean said, and Arthur could feel him shuffling again.

“I’ll be honest, they ain’t usually this conscious. Now, is it left or right here?”

“How the fuck would I know?”

Arthur grunted, and twisted back so he could get a grip on Sean’s collar and pull him up. Sean craned his neck to see the road. “Left.”

“Good,” Arthur let him drop and got an indignant squawk back. “Now, can you shut up for five minutes so we can make this look convincin’?” 

“You wound me, Arthur. I’ve been actin’ roles like this since I could sit on my da’s knee.” 

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve said.”

Sean did shut up, thankfully, and as they rode into town, a few of the locals started leaning their heads out to see who was being dragged to the law that day. 

Arthur brought his horse to a stop outside the sheriff’s, and slung Sean down and back over his shoulder. 

“Easy there, big fella,” Sean grunted as Arthur’s shoulder dug into his gut. 

“Shut up, kid.” 

He pushed the sheriff’s door open. 

“Think there’s a bounty on this one,” Arthur said gruffly, fishing the crumpled up poster out of his coat pocket. 

If anything, the sheriff looked annoyed to have his coffee interrupted. He put down his cup and held out a hand for the poster like he’d rather be doing any other damn thing in the world. He fished a pair of eyeglasses out of his shirt pocket, inspected it and then stood up. 

“You Sean MacGuire?” 

There was a long pause from Sean. “No.” 

Arthur had to fight real hard to keep from laughing. 

The lawman didn’t seem to find it all that funny. He reached out to drag Sean up by the hair and peered suspiciously into his face. 

“That picture could be anyone. I wanna-” 

The sheriff backhanded Sean hard enough that Arthur was forced back a step. He heard Sean make a noise over his shoulder, but thankfully the kid had the good sense to shut up.

“Reckon you’re right,” the sheriff said, returning to the desk. “Put him in the back and I’ll get your money.”

“Fuck me,” Sean grunted once they’d turned the corner, and Arthur was pretty sure he felt him wipe his nose against the back of his shirt. “Bastard’s got a mean swing.” 

Arthur didn’t answer, aware they might still be being watched, but when he lowered Sean onto the ground, he took a second to search his face, make sure he wasn’t having second thoughts. 

His lip was split, blood smeared up his cheek, but it didn’t look like anything too bad.

Sean was just grinning round it, and Arthur guessed it was difficult to second guess yourself when you didn’t have a thought in your head to start with. 

Arthur gave him a nod, before pushing himself to his feet.

He returned to the desk.

“Here you go.” The sheriff was counting cash out of a billfold. “You done this town a great service. You know who that bastard is?” 

“Know he’s got a hell of a price on him.” 

“One of the van der Linde gang. Ruthless bandits every one of them.” 

“Oh,” Arthur said carefully, as he picked up the money. 

“You heard of them, son?” 

“Heard enough. Enough to know I don’t wanna be on the wrong side of them.”

The sheriff nodded like that was only wise. “They say they got an old conman with ‘em who could talk ya outta the shoes you were standin’ in, and make you pay him for the privilege.” 

Arthur nodded, cos that sounded about right. He opened his mouth but the sheriff cut him off.

“No shortage of guns either. Big fellas, big as you, even. Whatya say your name was?”

“Matthews,” Arthur said, all of a sudden, because he was running out of names that were clean, and then kicked himself that Hosea was still at the front of his thoughts. 

The sheriff didn’t seem to pick up on it though, just nodded. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one.

Arthur decided to push his luck. “If you don’t mind my asking,” he gestured over his shoulder with the cigarette, “as a matter of professional curiosity, what’ll happen to him?” 

“Oh, I’ll send a boy out, see if the federal officers want him. They usually do, when the price is that big.” The sheriff took a long drag off his cigarette. “Surprised you didn’t take him out that way yourself.” 

“I… err… got matters to attend to. And draggin’ a bounty that far across country is a good way of gettin’ knifed I reckon.” 

The sheriff just looked at him for a second. “True enough, I guess. I’ll let you be on your way then.” 

Arthur breathed. Had his hand on the door, quicker than he could think. “Yeah, err, thanks for the smoke.” 

“No worries, son,” he heard the sheriff say as he let the door close on him. 

Christ. He rubbed his hands over his face. He didn’t like jobs like this. He wasn’t made for them. 

Still it sounded like Sean was right. There was no risk of them hangin’ him outright, and no real urgency to get him in a jail wagon. 

Arthur guessed that made sense since Sean had lived it once already. 

Maybe he didn’t ought to be so hard on the kid. 

Then again, he thought, as he mounted his horse, maybe he’d better wait to make that judgement til they were all safely away. 

***

By the time the sun set that evening, Arthur had a campfire going, a bottle of whiskey open and a pocket full of fifteen hundred dollars. 

He couldn’t believe Sean’s stupid plan had actually worked… provided Javier and Sean actually made it back tonight, of course… 

But the first two jobs had gone smoothly enough, he guessed. Javier and Sean meeting him exactly where they’d planned, ready to swap Sean from one horse to the other and hit another town. 

They decided to make do with the two horses, to avoid having a third trailing them, and either getting into trouble or attracting attention, but it meant Boaz and his mare having a heavy load, and that had slowed them down. 

It made him miss Titan all over again, like an ache in his chest. Big dumb thing would barely have felt it. 

His mare was grazing quietly a little way away, her back steadfastly turned to him. 

“Hey, girl, you still mad with me?” 

She snorted to let him know exactly what she thought. 

“Oh, be that way then.”

She’d be pacified easily enough with a few sugar cubes later. 

He leaned back on one elbow and took a swig of whiskey. 

While he’d be glad to see that Javier and Sean had made it out of their final score in one piece, he’d be a little disappointed to have his peaceful evening cut short. 

They’d agreed not to go back to camp. Their excursions had taken them a little too far to comfortably return, and if they decided to carry on to another job, it’d be easier to start out a little closer to civilisation. 

And frankly, Arthur didn’t have any desire to head back. Things in camp were tense. He’d hear Dutch arguing daily, with Molly, with Hosea, with any damn person he decided was lookin’ at him funny. 

Dutch had always had a temper, but he’d never gone at people like a raging bull before… well, not his own people, and Arthur didn’t like being put in a position where he had to defend Dutch to himself. 

Easier to make himself scarce for a while, until Dutch got over whatever was eatin’ him. 

Arthur took another swig from the bottle. He’d make the most of a warm fire, a full belly and a day full of easy takes while he had the chance. 

The mare nickered slightly, pricking her ears up, but she didn’t seem too concerned, and when Arthur heard hooves in the distance he took that to mean his errant companions were close. 

He still dropped a hand to his pistol, wouldn’t do to get too complacent, but it wasn’t needed. Half a minute or so later, and Javier was trotting round the rise, riding double with Sean holding onto his waist. 

Javier raised a hand in greeting, as they neared. 

“No trouble?” Arthur asked. 

“Like a dream, compadre.” 

Javier brought Boaz to a stop, and dismounted. Sean followed unsteadily a second later, hand clutched against his ribs. He groaned with the movement, and just lowered himself stiffly to lay straight on the ground. “Jesus.” 

Arthur frowned, and glanced at Javier for an explanation, but got nothing more than the back of Javier’s head as he turned to pat down his horse. 

“Y’alright, Sean?” 

Sean had thrown his arm across his face, his other clutching at his side. The way he was breathin’, Arthur would bet he’d broken a rib. 

“M tip top, big fella. I just… give me a minute.” 

Javier turned, and finally met Arthur’s eye. He was smiling faintly, so Arthur guessed nothin’ too dramatic had happened. 

Javier joined Arthur by the fire, sitting Indian style, and gesturin’ for the bottle. “I think the Irlandés overestimated the accommodations offered to men such as ourselves.” 

He took a healthy drink and passed it back.

“Such a bunch of unscrupulous bastards, I never did see!” Sean said from behind his arm. “An unarmed prisoner! And from lawmen, no less!” 

“Unarmed,” Javier smiled, “sadly not voiceless.” 

Arthur snorted into the bottle. 

Sean finally sat up, scowling, and Arthur could see that as well as the split lip he was sporting from that morning, he now had the beginnings of a black eye to match. 

“Well, thank you, friends, for your concern.” He gestured for the bottle. “Lend me that, Arthur, I’ve a throat on me.” 

Arthur passed the whiskey over, as Javier reached over to start fishing around in Arthur’s pack. “You got anything to eat?”

“Should be some jerky in the front,” Athur said, still watchin’ Sean. “I got some game as well, if you wanna cook it.”

Javier shook his head and stuffed a hunk of dried beef in his mouth, before flicking Arthur’s bag shut again. 

“I’m not stayin’. Don’t like stickin’ in one place too long in the middle of a job. Wanna go see how the land’s lying.” He grinned over at Sean. “That’s if you got another in you, pelirrojo?” 

Sean pulled a face around the bottle. “Jesus, let me have five minutes, won’t ya? Isn’t you that’s taken a day’s worth of the law’s retribution.” 

Javier just laughed, and said something in Spanish that Arthur didn’t understand. He pushed himself to his feet and headed for his horse. “Well, until the morning then, gentlemen.”

“Reminds me,” Arthur said, searching through his coat for the money he’d collected. 

He flicked through and counted out a third. Held it out to Javier and got a nod in return. 

Javier mounted Boaz, tipped his hat once more, and with a last ‘buenas noches’, spurred off round the rise. 

Arthur watched him go, over the rising embers of the fire. 

Sean was practically doubled over, curled around the whiskey bottle. He was toying with the label. 

Quiet. For fucking once.

Arthur split the remaining money in two. 

“Got yours too.”

Sean tossed the bottle back over his way, and laid back again with another groan. “Keep it til it’s over, English.” 

He had his hand clutched to his ribs again. 

Arthur frowned. “You sure you wanna go again?” 

“Said I’d do four, and I’ll do four, alrigh’?” Sean snapped.

He was slurring a little, and Arthur decided to believe that was more to do with the good third he’d taken out of the whiskey and not the punch to the face. 

Still... was a worry. 

“You sure you’re alright?” 

If Arthur expected a snappy response, he didn’t get it.

“Yeah.” Sean sighed. “That last fella… think he broke me nose.” 

“Let me see.” 

Sean pushed himself up, so Arthur could see across the fire. 

Maybe, with the way his eye was bruising up. Looked straight enough though. “Guess you’ll find out in the mornin’.” 

Sean grunted and laid back down again. “You’d think I’d fucked his sister, way he laid in.” 

“ _ Did _ you fuck his sister?” 

“Well, har de har, ain’t you funny?” Sean shifted onto his side, using his arm as a pillow, staring at Arthur across the fire. “Hey, big fella, what’s goin on with you and Dutch?” 

Arthur frowned again. “What you mean?” 

“What I mean is, since I joined this gang, you, Dutch and Hosea, hell, John even, you been thick as thieves, and now… well, let’s just say, I’ve seen the Orangemen march through Derry with less hostility, if you get my meaning?” 

Arthur just looked at him. 

“‘Bout half of it…” He held up a hand when Sean looked likely to try and explain. Last thing he needed was another story about Sean’s  _ da _ . “Yeah, I get what you’re sayin’.” 

“So what happened? I know that oily prick hasn’t helped none, but…” 

“Ain’t about Micah, least not really…” Arthur rubbed his hands over his face, to give himself a second to think. He didn’t want to talk about Micah. And he sure as shit didn’t want to talk about how he felt about Dutch. “Listen, what happened at Blackwater?” 

And it might have been a trick of the firelight, but Arthur thought he saw Sean grimace. 

"Reckon I'm gonna disappoint you there, English. First I heard of it goin to hell was when I got a load of Pinkertons up my arse. I didn’t know where in hell anyone else’d got to, certainly not Dutch or Micah fucking Bell, all I knew was that I didn’t fancy gettin’ shot for my trouble." 

"So you surrendered?"

"Fuck yes, I surrendered, and you woulda done too, youda seen what I seen. What happened to that pair of Scottish gobshites." 

Arthur leaned up. "Mac and Davey?" 

"Yeah. You're lucky you weren't there."

"Saw Davey."

Sean raised his eyebrows. "He made it out?"

"Barely. You saw Mac?"

"Didn't see the end. Saw  _ enough _ ,” Sean said darkly. “And I'll tell you this, I ever see that skinny arse Pinkerton fuck again, I'm gonna put a bullet in him."

"Milton."

Sean nodded a little. "Aye, Milton. Boy's got a ticket straight to hell, and its comin via Sean fucking MacGuire!" 

Arthur smiled, because he’d like to see it. "Fair enough."

“We’ll be alright, though.” 

Arthur couldn’t quite tell if that was meant to be a question. “Yeah, we’ll be alright, kid.” 

Sean was smiling too. He shifted onto his back, with another groan, and Arthur didn’t miss his hand shooting to his ribs again. “Jesus. That  _ poitín _ is rough as arseholes, you got anything else in that pack of yours? I might need a nightcap.” 

Arthur flicked it open. “Got… gin? Not much.” 

He tossed it over to Sean, who took a quick swig, and sighed, settling back with the bottle resting against his chest. “That’s grand.”

Arthur huffed, between them, Javier and Sean had about cleaned him out, but he guessed Sean could do with blurring the edges a bit if he wanted to sleep. 

Arthur busied himself rolling out his bedroll. 

He oughta have known the silence couldn’t last. 

“ _ Well, I been a wild rover for many a year... _ ”

“No,” Arthur said shortly.

“ _ And I spent all me money on whiskey and beer _ … Come on, Arthur. I know you know it.”

“I hate that fucking song.” 

Sean was just grinnin’ like he knew full well. “ _ But now I’m returnin’ with gold in great store _ …” 

Arthur slumped down heavily into his blankets. “You keep on goin’ and  _ I’ll _ break your nose.” 

“Come on now, Arthur, are you threatenin’ a wounded comrade?” 

Sean was still drinkin’. Hopefully it’d knock him out. Particularly if he was still set on another take tomorrow morning.

Arthur poked at the fire a little, as it was dying. It was a warm night and the lingering heat would see them fine until morning. “Go to sleep, Sean.” 

“Ah, there’s no joy in you, Arthur.” 

Arthur laughed as he laid back. “You know, I reckon that’s the most perceptive thing you’ve ever said.” 

“It’s a cryin’ shame, is all.” 

“ _ Goodnight _ , Sean.” 

“Yeah, goodnight, you miserable old prick. See ya in the mornin’ and we’ll see about robbing another lawman. Bet that’ll put a smile on your face.” 

Arthur smiled a little. If they all got home safe tomorrow night with two grand in their pockets, then yeah, that might be worth a bit of celebration. 


	3. Chapter 3

Sean was still asleep when Arthur woke, which wasn’t unusual, but not even clattering around making coffee roused him from where he was curled up in a ball inside his bedroll. Arthur couldn’t see anything of him, except for the very top of his head, poking out from underneath his blanket. 

Kid slept like… well, like a kid. 

Arthur forgot, sometimes, just how young he was. 

He left him for a little while, since there was nothin’ keepin’. And with the kicking he’d taken yesterday, Arthur imagined he wasn’t going to relish waking.

Well, he gave it until the coffee was brewed at least... “Kid? Sean?”

The effect was instant. 

Sean shot up, half tangled in the blanket and clutching a pistol in the only hand he’d managed to free. 

“Whassit?” He was frowning. Blinking blearily, still half caught in sleep. “Wha’?”

He’d look even more like a kid, if it weren’t for the gun in his hand. 

Arthur smiled. “It’s just me.” 

“...‘Rtha?” Sean rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. “You wan’?” 

Arthur poured out the coffee and held it out to him. “It’s mornin’.” 

Sean looked at the coffee, blinked, and then threw himself back down onto the bedroll. “Fuck.” 

“You keep sleepin’ with your hand on your gun, and you’re gonna wake up with a bullet in you.” 

Sean just mumbled something that sounded like ‘ray of fuckin’ sunshine’. 

Arthur left the coffee at his side. “How you feelin’?” 

“Like some bastard of a lawman knocked ten bells outta me.” Sean sat up again, and discarded the pistol into the blankets at his side. He leaned over to snag the coffee cup. “Thanks, English.” 

Arthur smiled again, starting to shove his own things into his pack, and pretended not to notice when Sean poured a generous slosh of whiskey into it. 

His eye had all but swollen shut. Arthur was getting a headache just looking at him. Still, it didn’t look like his nose was broken, which was something.

Sean didn’t exactly look ready for another job, though. 

“You wanna head back?”

Sean didn’t answer for a second, as he cradled his coffee. Arthur heard him sigh. “Nah, I promised Javier two grand between us.” 

It was on the tip of Arthur’s tongue to say ‘fuck that’. Who gave a shit what Javier thought? Sean was the one taking the hits. It was his job, his call, as far as Arthur was concerned. That’s what Hosea had always taught him. 

Whoever was takin’ the risks got to pull out, no questions asked. 

He remembered Hosea tellin’ him that. Way back. 

Arthur couldn’t have been much past eighteen. It had been one of their less spectacular plans, something involving an aging rancher and the money he had squirrelled away. If he remembered right, it had been a combined effort between Dutch and Hosea to set up, with Arthur playing bait, sucking up to the old man.

The whole thing had stunk. The old rancher was sleazy as they came, and Arthur had felt sick every time he thought about it. A dread that had settled in his stomach and stuck there.

But he’d felt even more sick when he thought about letting Dutch and Hosea down. 

It wasn’t until the night before that he’d finally plucked up the courage to tell Hosea he didn’t want to do it. 

And he could still remember it now, stuttering his way through excuses, certain that Hosea was going to lay into him. That the two of them would think he was weak, that he just didn’t have the stomach for it. The darker thought that maybe they’d cut him loose if he couldn’t pull his weight. 

But Hosea had just listened to him, quiet as anything, until he’d finally leaned back and just said ‘alright, son’. Some of his shock must’ve shown on his face, because Hosea had laughed then, and asked if he really thought they’d’ve sent him anyway. 

He’d gotten real serious when Arthur hadn’t answered. 

‘Always trust that feeling in your gut, son,’ he’d said then, ‘and if you trust your friends, then trust their gut as well.’ He’d shrugged easily, and patted Arthur on the shoulder. ‘If you say it’s rotten then it’s rotten. Now pack up, while I tell Dutch we’re pulling it.’ 

Sean certainly didn’t look as enthusiastic as he had the day before from what Arthur could see, and Arthur wasn’t inclined to railroad him when they already had a good take.

“Don’t think Javier’d care. Five hundred each is a good day. And we’ve pushed our luck.” 

Sean smiled, faintly. “Quit while you’re ahead, you mean?” 

“Wouldn’t do any harm… for once.” 

Sean raised his cup. “I hear ya, big fella.” His smile dropped, a little. “What I said last night, ‘bout Dutch, I didn’t mean nothin’.”

“Me neither.”

“I was just passin’ time.” 

“I know,” Arthur said, but Sean really, really seemed like he had something more to say. “You sure you’re alright?” 

“Dutch ain’t led me wrong so far,” Sean said, quickly, like that was an answer.

“What about Blackwater?” 

Sean’s expression turned dark. “I don’t think  _ he _ led us there.”

Arthur didn’t have chance to ask what the fuck he was talkin’ about because there were hoof beats around the rise, and all of a sudden, Javier was trotting into camp with a huge grin across his face. 

“I have news for you, amigos!” 

“Yeah?” Arthur asked, but he was still thinking about what Sean had been saying. He didn’t need to think too hard to work out exactly  _ who _ he’d been talking about.

Javier dismounted. “Your price has gone up again, pelirrojo.” 

That brought Arthur back to the present. “Again? That quick?” 

Javier crouched by the fire and poured himself a coffee. He nodded. “Around Strawberry, at least. Guess that sheriff from last night didn’t take too kindly to my arrival. Decided to take matters into his own hands.” 

He fished a poster out of his pocket, and unfolded it with slightly too much melodrama. 

Arthur frowned at him. Looked at the paper. And then back at Javier. “One thousand dollars.” 

Sean’s head snapped up. “One thousand dollars?” 

“One thousand,” Javier agreed, with a grin. 

Arthur leaned forward. “ _ Alive. Reimbursement offered to lawmen by Sheriff Vernon Farley, Strawberry, on receipt of confirmation of arrest. _ ‘S that mean?” 

Javier folded up the paper. “Just means that if another town pays out the bounty, Farley will pay them back.” 

Arthur frowned, turned back to Sean. “The  _ hell’d _ you say to him?”

Sean just shrugged. 

Javier downed his cup. “So, are you ready for another payday?” 

“Now, hold up,” Arthur raised his hands, “this is gettin’ a little hot, don’t you think?” 

Javier shrugged. “We’re far from Strawberry. And a thousand is a lot of money for a morning’s work.” 

“Well, yeah, but…” There was something off about this whole thing. “Why… why would this Farley give enough of a shit to put his own money on the line?” 

“Doubt it's his money,” Javier said. “Don’t they got a pot they can use for this kinda thing?” 

Arthur didn’t know. Arthur didn’t know shit about any of this except that it was  _ stinkin’ _ . And there was that dread again. “Reckon we oughta call it quits.” 

Javier cocked his head. “You runnin’ out on another thousand dollars? Really? What, are you getting old? Irlandés talk some sense into him.” 

Arthur glanced at Sean, who was staring steadfastly at the ground. He shrugged. “I guess I’m in,” he didn’t sound in any way convincing, “for another thousand...” 

“Now hold on… I… didn’t you say my five was too hot?“

“I…  _ yeah…” _ Sean sounded like he was trying to weasel his way out of saying anything. 

“You have five thousand on you, guero? Mierda!” 

Arthur ignored Javier, kept his attention firmly on Sean. “So, what’s the difference?” 

Javier was still swearing under his breath. “I wonder what Dutch’s price is?” 

“Listen, just shut up for a minute,” Arthur snapped at him. He turned back to Sean. “Why would this Farley be so keen on gettin’ you?” 

“Urgh,” Sean emptied the dregs of his spent coffee out into the remains of their fire, “I don’t know, English. I don’t know, I was riling him up!” 

“Then how do we know they don’t know somethin’?” 

“Mierda!” Javier said again, with a laugh. “You two spook easily.” 

Sean sprang to his feet, quick enough that Arthur bet he regretted it. “Now, I’m not spooked, ya hear me!” 

“So, let’s go!” 

“Fine!” 

And suddenly, Arthur was the only one still seated. Christ, were these two idiots, or  _ was _ he just gettin’ old? “Just wait, a minute-”

“Come on, amigo! We need you on this! Can’t run it with two! Just one more.” 

“I got one more in me, big fella, I swear!”

Arthur could feel himself wavering. Another thousand was a lot of money, it’d keep the wolves from the door, and maybe settle Dutch a little. 

Arthur could feel it in him. Dutch was gonna do something damn stupid, way he was all riled up. Something not even Hosea would be able to talk him out of… 

Arthur would put the whole damn lot of his share from this in the box if it would get Dutch thinking clearly again. 

It was Sean’s job, and if Sean was in… 

Arthur sighed, and pulled out a cigarette. “Alright. One more.” 

***

Arthur turned his horse down into the town. A sorry little shithole of a place, a store, a jailhouse and not much else, surrounded by wide open plain. 

He had the new, amended poster in his pocket. 

It still smelled dirty to him. He’d already decided, without speaking to the others that if the law here didn’t want to honour it, then he wasn’t goin’ to push it. Five hundred was more than enough. 

He pulled the horse to a stop outside the sheriff’s office, and, for the fourth time in two days, hauled Sean over his shoulder.

Sean grunted, and Arthur wasn’t surprised, he could practically feel the kid’s broken ribs crunching. 

Christ, they gotta start feedin’ this kid better. 

“Got one for the cells,” he said, as he pushed his way into the building, and just about stopped himself from jumping. 

The room was crowded. Sheriff, deputy and another couple of lawmen, all seated, passing the time of day.

Four men. All on duty. In a town this size? 

Arthur felt a prickle of unease down his spine, but there was nothing for it now.

The deputy took his feet down from where he had them crossed, up on the desk. He was a squirrely looking man, and something about the look on his face reminded Arthur uncomfortably of Micah. He leaned over to gesture for the poster. 

The sheriff hadn’t moved at all. 

The deputy whistled low as he scanned over the paper. “Quite a price. You’re quick off the draw. Only came in this mornin’ that his price had been upped.” 

“Only picked it up this morning.” Arthur shifted awkwardly. For all he was a bony little shit, Sean was beginning to weigh uncomfortably heavy across his shoulder. “I take him through?” 

“You just put him down right there,” the sheriff finally spoke, low, tone not giving a damn thing away. 

Arthur felt a little cold, but did as he was asked. Sean grunted when he hit the floor. But Arthur didn’t want to be too careful with him, what with the way the other two lawmen had stood up, and moved to step behind him. 

He could feel their eyes on his back. Knew without looking that they had their hands on their holsters.

“Now,” the sheriff said, leaning back a little too nonchalantly in his chair, letting the front two legs swing in open air, “I’m afraid I can’t pay you out right away.” 

Well, what a damn surprise.

Arthur shifted his weight, tryin’ to work out how best to keep his eye on all four men. “No? Why’s that?” 

“Well, seems you’ve caught yourself a slippery son of a bitch, cheated the hangman one too many times. I ain’t authorised to pay a single cent until he swings, and that’ll be…” The sheriff glanced round at the deputy. “What d’you say, Bill?” 

The deputy sucked a breath through his teeth. “Well, Jeremiah,” he looked to Arthur, “that’s Jeremiah Wendle, he’s the hangman round here. He said he was goin’ out around daybreak to go catch him some rabbits, so’s I reckon he should be back around midday.” 

The sheriff nodded. “So, what? We say around three? What time’s it now?” 

“Quarter after eleven.”

Shit. 

Arthur had a lump in his throat that was making it hard to speak. Not that he knew what to fucking say in any case. He daren’t look at Sean. “Today? You, err, ain’t takin’ him out east?” 

The sheriff grinned, like a wolf. “The federal officers ain’t had too much luck so far. We all figured we’d do ‘em a favour. They can have his corpse if they want to make an example of him.” 

Arthur did  _ not _ look at Sean. 

One of the men behind him was pacing. Feet heavy against the creaking floorboards, sounding like a death march. 

Fuck.

“Ain’t got time to wait,” Arthur said. “I got places to be.”

The sheriff sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Can’t be helped I’m afraid. Now, if you want to leave a forwardin’ address, I can promise you on my honour I’ll send that money onto you.” 

Arthur risked a glance at Sean, trying to gauge whether they were still trying to get a payday out of this. 

Sean wasn’t giving much away, though he’d started breathin’ a little heavier, panting through his teeth, like a cornered dog. 

Fuck it. 

All the money in the world weren’t worth Sean dyin’ over. 

He took a step to the side, casually as he could, trying to get in a position where he could shield him more easily if it came to it. Maybe Sean had been right yesterday, and he shouldn’t have lashed him quite so tight.

Shit. 

Arthur took another step back, close enough that his heel hit Sean’s knee. He kept his eyes on the sheriff. “Well, perhaps I’d better hang onto him til then. If he’s as slippery as they say.” 

"No." The sheriff laughed a little, and leaned back more in his chair. “No, I understand you wantin’ to be sure of your investment, but I ain’t takin my eyes offa him til he swings. You can be sure of that. You’re welcome to wait here though, could always do with another gun… just in case, you see, friend?” 

They knew. 

They fucking  _ knew _ . 

Though whether or not they knew  _ he _ was in on whatever was goin’ on was another question. He was struggling to see why they wouldn’t have just shot him down in the doorway if they did. 

His hand itched for his gun, but that was damn stupid. 

Sean was all bound up at his feet. A sitting goddamn target, and the four had him surrounded. 

That wasn’t even countin’ how many men the sheriff could call on outta the town, who’d be standin’ between them and open country. 

Arthur risked another glance down at Sean. 

He looked a little pale, as he met Arthur’s eyes, but mercifully, for once he kept his mouth shut. 

Arthur made a decision. 

There was nothin’ for it but to try and play it off. They had a few hours or so. He could get away, warn Javier that they were expecting a break out. 

With the two of them it could still be alright.

He levelled a kick at Sean, trying to avoid his broken ribs. “Don’t you look at me like that, you sack of shit.”

Sean groaned and curled up as much as he could with his hands lashed behind him. Arthur guessed his aim hadn’t been great, but he could apologise later. 

He looked back at the sheriff. “Reckon I might have a drink, if I got a wait on my hands.” 

If he could just get a minute alone...

The sheriff smiled again. “Sure. Robert?” He gestured to one of the other men. “Why don’t you go buy Mister..?” 

“Callahan,” Arthur said. 

“Why don’t you buy Mr Callahan a drink as a thank you for being so cooperative?” 

“Sure thing, boss,” said one of the men behind him. 

Arthur’s grin felt stretched and thin. He tipped his hat. “Much obliged, friend.” 

The sheriff smiled, leaned back in his chair again. "No trouble at all. And you have my word on your pay, Mr Callahan. Any man who brings in one of Van der Linde's is a great friend to this town. You'll be sure to get what's owed you…" He paused significantly, and Arthur daren't look away. Then the sheriff smiled that wolf smile again. "Just as soon as he gets his." 

Arthur had his hand on the door. Robert was stood just a fraction too close behind him. He had a feeling that they were waiting on him for something. “That’s… a comforting thought.” 

The sheriff and the deputy grinned at each other like they were sharing some kind of private joke. 

Goddamn.

“Art… Callahan!” Sean shouted.

“You shut your goddamn mouth right now!” Arthur snapped. 

Kid had better not blow it now, not when he had a lawman six inches from his back, and three more with their hands on their guns. 

But Sean had a sneer across his face. “You hear what he said, big fella? Isn’t a noose this side of the Atlantic tight enough to string up a MacGuire. You’ll get what’s comin’ to ya, ya hear me? You’ll get what’s comin’!” 

It would almost be threatening, if Sean wasn’t trussed up with a shiner and a split lip.

“Alright,” the sheriff’s chair clattered as he swung all four legs back onto the floor, “think that’s about enough outta you.” 

Arthur felt Robert’s hand against his back, shoving him lightly out of the door. 

“You hear me, Callahan?” He could still hear Sean shouting through the wood. “I’m comin’ for ya! I got people lookin’ out for me! I’m-” 

He was cut off with a yelp, as he presumably got another backhand for his trouble. 

“Fuckin’ micks,” Robert said, as they descended the steps. “They all got a mouth on ‘em.” 

Arthur smiled tightly because he couldn’t think of anythin’ to say. 

That was clever of Sean, throw a little bit of doubt. They might’ve got word of Sean’s miraculous escapes yesterday, but Arthur reckoned they didn’t quite know how the score worked. 

They clearly weren’t sure of Arthur’s involvement. They could’ve shot him down ‘bout a dozen times already. But he could just be some poor sap of a bounty man caught up in a scam. 

They were waitin’ for him to incriminate himself, and he was unfortunately going to have to oblige them. 

His mare was where he’d left her, nosing at the water trough against the midday heat. 

He couldn’t go for her now. Not bein’ watched so close. 

If they had til three before the sheriff expected to spring his trap on Javier, then Arthur didn’t want to do a damn thing that’d convince him it’d be easier to put a bullet in Sean and have done with it. 

He forced a smile at the man at his side. He looked amiable enough, a little older than Arthur, with a broad, open face. “Robert, was it?” 

“Sure was, friend. And you?” 

“Jim,” Arthur said, easily. He hadn’t used that one in years, and he didn’t have it in him today to try and keep a new name straight in his head. Not when he was busy tryin’ to think his way out of this.

If he couldn’t think of somethin’, then Javier was gonna walk right into a trap, and Sean was gonna hang. 

Fuckin’ kid, and his stupid fuckin’ plan. 

And Javier, fuckin’ asshole, goading the kid into one more goddamn score. 

Christ, Dutch was gonna skin Arthur alive… If Hosea didn’t get to him first… 

“So, where’s a man get a drink around here?” 

Robert gestured down the street. “There’s a saloon right there. Ain’t strictly speakin’ open yet, but Marie on the bar likes to do the law a favour sometimes.” 

“Huh.” 

Arthur’s tongue felt heavy. He’d never got good at talkin’ his way through things. Not like Dutch. Certainly not like Hosea.

He found you didn’t have to do a whole lot of talkin’ once you’d pulled your gun. 

“You, err, got a gallows in town then?” 

“Nah,” Robert said. “Ain’t too much call for it, town this small. We got the hangin’ tree out west.” 

“You got a hangman, but no gallows?”

“Well, strictly speakin’, old Jeremiah’s only a hangman part time, like. His real profession’s undertaker.” 

Arthur looked at him, but Robert wasn’t smiling. Didn’t seem to find anythin’ the least bit amusin’ about it. 

“Well,” Arthur said, finally, “I guess it’s good for business. He gets a wage, a new pair of boots and the price of a coffin.” 

“Old Jeremiah is very civic minded.” 

“Yeah, I bet,” Arthur laughed. “I bet he is.”

***

Arthur was three whiskeys down, and no closer to shakin’ off Robert. 

“So, where abouts you from, Jim?” 

Arthur knocked back his fourth. “Nevada,” he lied. 

“No foolin’?” Robert clapped him on the back, and Christ if this bastard touched him again he was gonna break his goddamn hand. “You’re a long way from home, boy!” 

“Mmm.” Arthur was beginning to feel sick, and he didn’t think it was the drink. “Listen, partner, I don’t wanna take up your time…” 

Robert hit his back again, hard enough that it was startin’ to hurt. “Ain’t no trouble, fella! Marie? Be a sweetheart, and pour us out another two.”

The sour faced barmaid did as she was told, though Arthur was gettin’ the impression that Robert wasn’t just wearing on  _ his _ nerves. 

“So, how long you been out east, Jimmy?” 

“Long enough.” 

“Don’t be like that! I just wanna get to know our new bounty man.” 

Arthur could see outta the cigarette stained window that the shadows outside were beginning to lengthen again as the sun arced past midday. 

Arthur pushed himself to his feet, irritation and worry churning in his gut as Robert did the same. 

“I gotta take a piss,” he said shortly. 

“Why don’t I show you, friend?” 

“I think I’m fine,  _ friend _ .”

“Now, come on-”

Robert reached out again, and Arthur caught his wrist without even thinking. 

Robert winced. 

“Now, there’s a limit to what I’ll do to stay friendly, fella.” Arthur flicked his jacket back away from his holster, knew Robert had seen it. “I don’t need an audience.”

He squeezed the man’s wrist just a little harder, to make sure his point was made, and then realised him. 

“Sure, friend,” Robert gasped, high pitched, with all that fake amiability. “I didn’t mean nothing by it.” 

He had his wrist clutched to his chest, and ok, maybe Arthur had gone at him a little hard. 

It was too late now. 

He looked to the barmaid. 

She looked distinctly unsurprised, and jerked a thumb back over her shoulder. “‘S out back, sugar.”

He nodded his thanks and retreated. 

As soon as the door had swung closed, he bolted. He didn’t know how long he had, but it couldn’t be much time til Robert either came lookin’ for him, or reported back. 

Arthur needed to be away. 

He slipped out the back, into the heat of the early afternoon. The saloon was on the opposite side of the road to the sheriff’s, so he could skirt behind the buildings to keep out of sight until he reached it. 

He set off, wavering between keeping low and trying not to look suspicious. 

He risked a glance around the side of the saloon, and ducked back as an armed man stalked down the main roadway, rifle held ready. 

Goddamn it. They had men out waiting for Javier already. Hopefully they didn’t have a description of him. 

Arthur sprinted behind the buildings, heart beating hard, waiting for the shout of alarm that would precede a gunshot. But there was nothing. 

Just the distant conversations rising over the buildings. 

He was level with the sheriff’s. He crouched as he slipped in between the buildings. 

His mare was still out front, her back to him, flicking her tail with ill disguised irritation at the flies drawn to the water trough. 

Arthur pressed himself up close to the building at his side, hunkered down behind a low fence. It wouldn’t do a damn thing to disguise him if one of the men happened to look straight down the alley, but he couldn’t exactly walk out into the street to get her either. 

He glanced round the side of the building. Of the few patrolling, most seemed to have their backs to him, watching out for people entering the town rather than leaving. 

That was something. 

He looked back at the mare, and gave a low whistle. 

And she didn’t do a damn thing. 

He clicked his tongue. “Girl.” 

She snorted, and stamped her foot, letting him know in no uncertain terms that she had heard him, but she didn’t move. Punishing him, probably, for leavin’ her out in the sun. 

“Hey!” he hissed. “Come ‘ere!” 

She still didn’t move. 

“Goddamn stubborn horse,” he hissed, digging around in his pocket. 

Her ears pricked up. 

“That’s right, girl.” He let the sugar packet rustle as he held it out. “That’s it.” 

She snorted again, and tossed her head enough to make her bridle rattle, but she did turn and fix him with a suspicious eye. 

He rustled the packet again. “Come on, girl.” 

And finally,  _ finally _ she relented. 

She turned and laboriously trotted across the street towards him, like she was granting him a great favour.

Goddamn horse. 

She reached the fence where he was huddled, and he let her stick her nose into the sugar bag, while he sorted out her looped up reins. 

“Good girl,” he said again, shoving the packet back in his pocket. 

Trying to mount around the low fence wasn’t the most dignified thing he’d ever done, but he managed it, and a quick glance up the road told him the patrol were still watching the hills. 

He clicked his tongue again, and urged her forward, waiting until he was close behind one of the riflemen before he kicked her into a canter. 

He heard the man shout out in surprise, caught a flash of his face as he passed, but he was already streaking away up the road as he heard the first crack of the rifle. He ducked down low, over the mare’s neck, but there was no real need. 

There was a smattering of more gunshots, but the men must have known they’d lost him. 

“Atta girl!” 

He laughed, breathlessly, and patted at the mare’s neck, as the breath of wind against his face soothed his overwrought nerves. It passed all too soon though, as the reality of the situation set in again. He might’ve got away this time, but Sean was still in trouble. Javier too, if Arthur couldn’t warn him. 

“Atta girl,” he said again, under his breath. “Now, let’s find Javier.” 

He urged her on. Hard. 

He’d wasted too much time already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where I remember that I'm better at weird ass character studies than plot >.<
> 
> Hope you're enjoying this more than Sean and Arthur are!


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur spurred til he was sure he was kicking blood out of the mare’s flanks. 

All he could think was that he had to reach Javier. He was headin’ right into those bastards’ hands. 

Although the weather was clear for the moment, the heavy rain that had fallen for near on a week before the last couple of days had bogged down the roads, and he daren’t take the mare across the fields for fear of turnin’ her leg on the soft ground. The mud from the road was flying high enough that he could feel it across his face. 

The road dropped away in front of him, and he pulled the mare to a skidding stop at the foot of the low rise. 

This was around where Javier had intended to wait, a copse of gnarled trees over to his right, marking the area he’d mentioned, but he hadn’t exactly been specific. There’d been no need to be. 

They’d never planned to meet until it was all over, and their emergency rendezvous was way out east, away from the main camp. 

Arthur swore. He was clutching the reins too tight and the mare was dancing in place, unnerved. 

“Javier!” He called, hopin’ he’d come up lucky, just once. 

Nothing. 

The mare pranced, tossing her head. He patted at her. “Easy, girl.” 

He looked around, feelin’ like a fool. 

He oughta have stayed in town, to keep an eye on things. To keep an eye on Sean. But he’d been so intent on catchin’ Javier before he walked straight into the net, that he hadn’t thought about how exactly he intended on findin’ him. 

“Shit.” 

He tugged the rein sharply again, turning the horse. 

He would have to head back into town and try to deal with this mess. All that mattered was gettin’ them all out alive, as best he could, and Javier was safer than Sean at this point. Hopefully, he’d see it was a bust, before goin’ in all guns. 

There were armed men in the street for Christ sake. 

The mare tossed her head again, irritated by their sudden stop. She wanted to get back to running. 

At least she had some stamina.

He urged her onwards again, back the way they’d come, when he heard a shout, carried on the wind. 

“Arthur!” 

He’d already drawn before he placed the voice, pistol clutched in his sweating palm, and wheeled around. 

But it was Charles, trotting down the path behind them. He raised a hand in a greeting that Arthur didn’t bother to return. 

Arthur spurred to meet him. 

Charles had a grin across his face, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand. “Dutch is lookin’ for you.” 

“I know.” 

He didn’t even try to hold the mare in place as she skittered and slowed. 

Charles must have seen something in his face, or heard it in his voice, because his smile dropped. “What happened?” 

Arthur didn’t even know how to begin to explain, so he decided it could wait. “They got Sean. They’re gonna hang him, and Javier’s gonna walk right into the middle of it.” 

Charles’s eyes went wide. “Where?” 

“Other side of town.” Arthur pointed.

“We got time to get John?” 

“What time is it?”

Charles fished a beat up silver watch out of his pocket. “‘Bout ten til two? Maybe?” He shrugged, helplessly. “Sorry, I haven’t been winding it.”

“Shit,” Arthur cursed, under his breath. How long had he been in the bar? He looked back up the road, like he might be able to miraculously see John in the distance. “Where is he?”

“Left him three or four miles back. Dutch sent us both out after you.” 

Arthur thought about it. They’d need all the guns they could get. 

“Get him. And meet me on the hill, overlookin’ the west side of town. Where-” 

He cut himself off before he said ‘where the hanging tree is’, but Charles was already nodding, urging Taima back the way he’d come. 

Arthur jerked the reins and did the same. Perhaps he might run into Javier before he brought a whole heap of hell down of himself.

***

Arthur used his binoculars to focus on the front of the jailhouse. There was no movement as yet, but the same couldn’t be said of the hanging tree. A couple of men, milling about with horses, were smoking out there, underneath the noose they draped over the bough. 

Shit. 

This was cutting it close. 

Arthur was laid in the grass, rifle stretched out in front of him, trying to keep as low as possible. 

There was no fucking cover this side of the town, at all. Which was going to make an easy rescue all but impossible. 

There was no crowd to hide in, nowhere to lay an ambush. 

This sheriff was takin’ no chances on lettin’ their prisoner slip the noose again. 

And to top it all, Arthur hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Javier. 

He dropped the binoculars to scan over the whole scene. It didn’t make the situation seem any better. 

_ Shit _ .

He felt, rather than heard, a step through the ground behind him and scrambled to draw. 

“Easy,” John whispered. “It's us.”

Arthur breathed out hard. “What took you?”

John and Charles crawled up to lay flat either side of him. 

“Any sign of them?” Charles asked. 

Arthur shook his head. He nodded over to the two men smoking by the noose. “No, but they got the welcomin’ party out for Sean.” 

“What’s the plan, Arthur?” John said.

A second of silence ticked by, which Arthur thought was pretty eloquent. “We put a bullet in anyone who isn’t ours, and pray that Sean and Javier have enough sense to hightail it if they see a chance.” 

“You really want another Strawberry?” Charles sounded like he was picking his words very carefully.

“I don’t know,” Arthur snapped. “You want another Blackwater? I don’t particularly wanna bury any more of ours.” 

Neither of them answered. 

It was too late anyhow. Arthur could see the door to the jailhouse opening. He shoved the binoculars back in his satchel, and picked up the rifle. A few people emerged, too many and too close together to count at first. 

“Here we go,” Arthur said under his breath.

As the figures split apart and began to walk across the fields it was easier to pick people apart through the scope. 

Sean was flanked by two lawmen, one holding his elbow. Arthur thought he had his hands bound behind him, but he couldn’t be sure at this distance. A third, the deputy, was at his back, shotgun in hand, aimed at Sean’s head.

The sheriff was leading them, along with another three men. 

So that made nine armed men, with the two over by the tree.

Odds weren't great, but he’d take them easy from this distance if it weren’t for Sean in the crossfire. 

The question was, how many shots could they get off, before one of those men could put a bullet in Sean. That was assuming that they killed the guy with the shotgun in one. 

Hell, if he twitched as he fell, he could still unload a shell into the back of Sean’s head even after he was dead.

“I wanna wait til he’s got some space around him,” Arthur said, and felt the other’s nod beside him. “And watch out for Javier, he’s out here somewhere. Don’t shoot til you’re sure who’s in your sights.” 

“We know, Arthur,” John said, sharply, and it wasn’t so long ago that Arthur wouldn’t have been able to help snapping back. But he bit his tongue. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t helpful. John was  _ here _ after all. 

For once.

Sean had made it out to the tree now, and Arthur could see that he was saying something to one of his captors. 

Charles laughed under his breath. “Even now he won’t shut up.” 

“Kid ain’t got the sense God gave a goose,” John said. 

Arthur wasn’t really in the mood. “Get your guns up, and get ready.” 

Sean was shoved over to one of the horses, which was being held tightly almost by the bridle. He still had the shotgun at his back as he was forced to mount. 

He made a meal of it, stumbling, with his hands wrenched back tight behind him. Arthur guessed it was a ruse. Whatever else the kid was, he was a good horseman, and Arthur had seen him mount his horse at a jump. 

But if he was trying to buy himself some time, he wasn’t helping, all he was doin’ was blockin’ Arthur’s shot.

“Arthur,” John said, in warning as the men got Sean settled, and the noose around his neck. 

Arthur clicked his tongue, sight’s set directly on the deputy’s forehead. “Fella with the shotgun’s too close. I got him. Wait for me.” 

“Arthur?” John said again, but Arthur didn’t have time for it, because the men were stepping back. 

The space around Sean opened up. But that deputy still had his gun high, still aimed squarely at Sean’s chest. 

He heard something click as Charles shifted at the side of him, and he made sure to keep his breaths even. Not to tense up on the trigger. 

The sheriff was saying something to the surrounding men. Pronouncing sentence, or something. 

Arthur breathed again. 

The man by the bridle was tensing, starting to tug the horse forwards, ready to leave Sean swinging. 

“Arthur!” John hissed hard in his ear. 

But he didn’t care. 

Because the deputy, seeing the movement, seeing the horse take a first step, and figuring his task was over, had let his shotgun dip. 

Arthur squeezed the trigger, and the deputy’s forehead exploded. 

He felt the force of guns at his sides. He had already begun to shift, to find his next mark. When he saw the flash of the shotgun’s muzzle out of the corner of his eye, and all hell broke loose. 

The horse reared and shrieked, a spray of red mist erupting from its flank. 

The deputy had twitched on the trigger, like Arthur had goddamn known that he would, and now the horse that was holding Sean up was crashing heavily to the ground. 

“Move!” he shouted. 

Whatever advantage they’d had with surprise was gone, all that mattered now was speed. 

Arthur shoved himself to his feet. Felt the others do the same. 

Two men were down. Another was hurt. But they were already rallying, letting off a smattering of shots towards the three of them as they started to sprint down the hill. 

Arthur didn’t care, he was firing wild because of the force he was running with, unwieldy with the long scoped rifle. 

Because he was too far away to make it out clearly, but Sean’s foot was caught in the dying horse’s stirrup. He was being dragged down, and his free foot was spasming, dancing in open air as he was slowly throttled. 

And Arthur would have to be Annie fuckin’ Oakley to shoot out the rope from this distance while Sean jerked on the end of it. 

There were shots coming from the other side of the field. Javier, Arthur assumed. And it was enough to put panic to the men caught in the middle as they dived for cover that wasn’t there. 

Charles and John were still shooting, giving him a chance, giving  _ Sean _ a chance. Arthur wasn’t even watching the other men, didn’t know how many were still standing, because he only had eyes for Sean. 

Sean’s face was red, twisted up weirdly against the rope, and if it wasn’t for him still dancing in mid air, Arthur would've thought that the weight of the horse had broken his damn neck. 

Arthur was close enough now. 

He stopped, stumbling over the last few steps and raised his rifle. 

He fired. 

Sean dropped. 

Hard.

And Arthur ran. 

He skidded to his knees at Sean’s side, aware that there were still gunshots somewhere behind him. He trusted the others to do what was needed. 

Sean was a crumpled heap over the dead horse, legs bent and splayed. The noose was still twisted tight against his neck.

Arthur dragged him up by the shoulders, trying not to think about how weirdly limp he felt, and forced his fingers behind the loop. It took him a second, a second of his pulse singing loudly in his ears, before he managed to drag the rope away. 

“Sean!” He shook him, feeling a little sick as his head lolled back awkwardly. 

Arthur’s heartbeat was pulsing loud in his ears again. Mocking him by screaming ‘you’re too late, you’re too late!’

Panic was makin’ him clumsy and slow, and in the end he decided to stop thinkin’ altogether. 

“Sean!” He shouted again, and slapped him as hard as he could across the face. 

Sean’s eyes shot open, streaming and bloodshot, and he drew in an achingly shallow breath. Hands coming up to scrabble weakly at Arthur’s wrists.

Arthur made a noise that even he wasn’t sure was a laugh or not. “There you go, boy! You’re alright, you’re alright!” 

But Sean was still fighting with him, trying to twist away, eyes wide and wild, like a spooked horse, and Arthur was suddenly struck that perhaps something in his mind had gone. Broken by so long without breathing. 

“Sean!” Arthur said again, catching his wrists and leaning down against him to try and keep him from hurting himself. Dread pooling in his stomach. “It’s me! It’s just me!”

Sean went limp again, all of a sudden, so that Arthur had to scramble to shift his grip before he hit his head against the ground again. 

He was still breathing like he’d sprinted a mile. Wheezing. Like he couldn’t drag enough air in. His eyes slid closed and he muttered something that Arthur couldn’t make out through the gasping. 

“What?” Arthur jostled him a litte, leaned in close to try and make out what he was saying. “What is it, Sean?” 

“My very own King Arthur.” 

Arthur snapped up, just in time to see the grin start to spread across Sean’s face. 

Arthur dropped him. “You goddamn stupid son of a bitch! I thought you were dyin’.” 

Sean laughed, painfully. His voice sounded raw and hoarse. “Give it time, English.” 

Arthur grabbed him under the arms and hauled him to his feet. “Come on, we ain’t out of this yet.”

Freed from the panic over Sean’s continued survival, Arthur scanned the situation. 

All the lawmen were down. John and Charles were trading shots now with a handful of the townsmen, ducked down low behind the bodies of the dead. 

They were lucky that no one in town seemed to be an ace gunslinger. 

Still, they had to get out of here, now. 

“He’s alive!” Arthur shouted at them, and got a sarcastic ‘yay’ back from John.

“We gotta go, Arthur!” Charles shouted.

The two of them started to back up, to form a kind of shield around the two of them. 

Arthur was having to use both hands to try and keep Sean upright, so he wasn’t exactly in the best position for defending them. He didn’t particularly want to try and carry him out on foot while they were being shot at. 

As if by miracle, Javier burst over the ridge on Boaz, trailing Arthur’s own horse and Taima by the reins. 

“Come on!” Arthur called to John and Charles. “Let’s go!” 

Javier reined Boaz in up close, and held out his hands. “Give him to me.” 

Arthur hoisted Sean’s upwards, and with some effect, Sean managing to kick him in the ribs in the process, they managed to get him mounted behind Javier. 

Arthur slapped the horse, satisfied as Javier didn’t waste another second spurring out of there. “Go on! Get!” 

Arthur span round again. Charles and John were mounted, horses prancing sideways at the sound of the gunfire. 

“Come on, Arthur!” John was calling to him, urging Arthur’s mare closer.

Arthur grabbed his wrist to drag himself up behind him, and they were away. 

There was still a smattering of gunshots behind them, but when Arthur looked back over his shoulder, he couldn’t see anyone following. 

Hopefully, they were away quick enough that none of the townsmen had managed to mount. Or maybe seeing most of the town’s law laid low, they didn’t have much desire to give chase. 

“Jesus Christ,” he felt John say. “You left it late.” 

“The deputy… wi’ the shotgun…” Arthur gasped, before realising Sean wasn’t the only one struggling to breathe. He took quick and frantic stock of himself to realise that, thank God, it was just the sprint and panic that had left him breathless. 

“I know,” John said, and then, again, “Jesus Christ.”

Arthur couldn’t help but agree with that assessment.

He was beginning to feel sick, the familiar post-fight nausea beginning to kick in. He kinda relished it. Knew it meant that he was alive. 

They were all alive. 

“You alright?” he asked, though John riding smooth, was sitting up fine. 

He needed to hear it. 

“Yeah,” John said. “Charles too. And you?” 

“Yeah,” he gripped John’s waist a little tighter, just to feel something solid beneath hands he couldn’t quite keep from trembling, “I think I might need to lay down for a minute.” 

“You’re gettin’ old, brother,” John said, something fond in his voice that made Arthur long for it to be years ago, when everything seemed a whole lot simpler. 

When escaping a shootout left him with a rush, and not this bone aching weariness. 

“What the hell were you doin’ anyway?” John asked, rousing him from melancholy. “Dutch sent half the camp out after you. Him and Hosea’ve been having kittens.” 

Arthur smiled. That was familiar a least, riding back double with John, ready to get a talkin’ to off of the two of them. 

He remembered that John had asked him a question. 

He opened his mouth to answer, and realised, again, that he didn’t have a goddamn clue where to begin. 

“You know what, I’ll tell you later. You’re gonna love this.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not usually advisable to slap a man that might have a broken neck but in Arthur's defence, he's had a stressful day XD 
> 
> I'm not quite happy with the pacing of this, but I'm also tired, so here it is! 
> 
> I'm pondering an epilogue as the boys face the music with Dutch and Hosea (Team Dads knew Sean was an idiot, they're a little shocked at Arthur), and Arthur's horse finally gets a name (with a little help from John), so let me know if you think that would round it off nicely. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
